


the great get-well-soon conspiracy.

by suganii (feints)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Fluff, Gen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29905350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feints/pseuds/suganii
Summary: Really, the story actually begins like this: a little after nine in the morning on the last day of school of Hanamaki’s first year, after both of his parents and his sisters had left for work and for school respectively, he receives a doorbell.The day is still young. Hanamaki hasn’t ordered anything, nor is he planning to; his mom had prepared simple ochazuke for him for lunch, and he doesn’t remember anyone asking him to watch out for packages. He certainly doesn’t expect to open the door to find Matsukawa outside, peering back at him with a grin.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Aobajousai Volleyball Club
Kudos: 5





	the great get-well-soon conspiracy.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnimeGinaLinetti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimeGinaLinetti/gifts).



> HAPPY HAPPY BIRTH SUSHI! i'm sorry for the lateness of this fic, i've been suffering from really bad writer's block recently, but i really hope you enjoy this regardless. if i haven't already said it, i'm really happy to have found you as a friend this past year. for all its ups and downs, it's been nice to have someone to scream with over seijoh and oikawa and just life in general ahaha. i wish you lots of joy and fluff this year. ilu<3
> 
> this fic is a sequel of sorts to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28387716), but you don't need to read it to understand this one.
> 
> \--------------------------
> 
> just a few things you need to know before you read:  
> -this fic assumes that on the last day of school, classes end slightly earlier.  
> -i reference a few other characters: yuda, sawauchi and shido who are all canonically also oikawa's year and part of the vbc. you can see them in a manga extra as well as in an extra scene in the 3rd hq movie, the scene set after seijoh's loss.

_some friends are for a season, some for a reason,_

_and some are_ _for_ right now and despite yourself, you hope forever too _._

_-some wise guy, probably_

Consider Hanamaki Takahiro, recently turned sixteen, proud member of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club. A boy pure of heart and cool of soul.

Consider the overly suspicious, preening diva with a sick topspin whom Hanamaki begrudgingly acknowledges as a friend. A boy cunning of brain and dumb of ass.

Now consider: how do you explain to such a person that _nobody_ (pure of heart and cool of soul, of course) ever just _intends_ to fall ill?

You don’t. You shouldn’t have to. Yet here Hanamaki is, trying to explain it in a way that someone like _Oikawa_ would believe him. This, in Hanamaki’s esteemed opinion, ~~is utter bullshit~~ skews extremely hypocritical and offensive considering Oikawa’s entire state of being. See: someone who is a walking, talking study of contradictions—not of the fun kind either, mind.

 _Point_ being, not everything is a personal slight, Oikawa.

It is ridiculous, he thinks. For his very first supposed complicit act of teenaged truancy in high school, it is.

-:✿:-

So maybe Hanamaki should rewind to the beginning.

It goes like this: every year, the school gives out a bunch of awards praising students from each cohort who’d managed to get top marks for each subject, as well as those who showed outstanding performances in their club activities, among other things. Hanamaki, who’d gotten respectable grades in Geography and Mathematics, wasn’t at all surprised to hear Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Yuda each won an award in at least one subject. Kitagawa Daiichi, where they’d come from, had been a decently competitive school, especially in the sciences. In Oikawa’s case, he’d actually won two.

Iwaizumi, to everyone’s surprise, also won an award in a category not related to academics.

(“Go on, Iwa-chan! Tell them,” Oikawa had drawled, nearly bouncing in place, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Iwaizumi had elbowed him hard, and cleared his throat. “I got the award for perfect attendance,” he said solemnly.

Oikawa burst as soon as he got the words out, one hand wrapped around Iwaizumi’s shoulder, the other clutching his stomach as he heaved out belly-deep peels of laughter like a dying whale. Even Matsukawa snorted, while Yuda, giggling, strode forward to clasp Iwaizumi in the arm.

Hanamaki, though, was watching Iwaizumi, a chuckle dying in his throat. The other boy’s eyebrows were scrunched, but not in a way that promised any real distress. There was a slight flush on his cheeks. Hanamaki found himself patting him on the back, saying softly, “Congratulations.”

“Ew,” he thought he heard Oikawa complain from somewhere to Iwaizumi’s right, but by then he’d already given in to the laughter too.)

Then two days ago, Oikawa had, in a fit of pique, suggested on their Facebook group wall that to celebrate the occasion, they should skip out on their last day of school. That was the day the awards would be given out, and it had struck him as funny to imagine the look on Principal Yamagata’s face when he announced the recipient of the award for Perfect Attendance—someone who had never for a single day of the year been late to a single class—and the awardee failed to show up. Oikawa had gone all out, even, coming up with a bucket list for a day trip somewhere beyond the four walls of Seijoh’s schoolgrounds. The list contained but was not limited to: tickets to Tokyo for a hanami viewing, a visit to a cat café that had just opened outside Aobadori Station two stops away, and a visit to Yagiyama Zoological Park.

Everybody knew better than to take him seriously. From Matsukawa, Hanamaki heard that Sawauchi and Shido hadn’t even begun to entertain him before telling him ‘no”. And according to Yuda, Iwaizumi had vehemently refused, waving his metaphorical award certificate in Oikawa’s face. Yudacchi had described it as, and Hanamaki quotes, “Oikawa looked like he was going to slap the non-manifesting award out of Iwaizumi with his bare fists.”

It didn’t matter if Hanamaki hadn’t been around to see it, he could already imagine how it would’ve gone. Honestly, watching Iwaizumi and Oikawa quibble is practically a daily routine at this point.

After that, the matter was dead in the water, or so everyone thought.

-:✿:-

So really, the story actually begins like this: a little after nine in the morning on the last day of school of Hanamaki’s first year, after both of his parents and his sisters had left for work and for school respectively, he receives a doorbell.

The day is still young. Hanamaki hasn’t ordered anything, nor is he planning to; his mom had prepared simple ochazuke for him for lunch, and he doesn’t remember anyone asking him to watch out for packages. He certainly doesn’t expect to open the door to find Matsukawa outside, peering back at him with a grin.

“Hello, stranger,” he greets.

Hanamaki sniffles. “What are you doing here?”

Matsukawa shrugs. “Don’t have any awards to claim. Figured a day shut in with you would do you some good.” He holds up a bag as he talks, and Hanamaki glimpses several titles inside.

He claps his hands together, sighing. “Ah, Mattsun! What did I do to deserve you?”

He shakes his head, but lets Matsukawa in.

Matsukawa’s been to his house a few times now, enough that he knows what to do, and he insists Hanamaki make himself comfortable while he sets up a movie for them to watch. Hanamaki obliges him, sinking gratefully into the sofa cushions with his white kakebuton wrapped around him while Matsukawa snuggles under the kotatsu.

“So, what’ll it be first?” Matsukawa asks him, prodding him gently and holding up a few CDs.

Hanamaki hums. “What’ve you got?”

“The Mysterians?”

“Wouldn’t Oikawa love that?” Hanamaki slits an eye open at Matsukawa, the pieces just then slipping into place. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Ever since The Bucket List,” Matsukawa says, adding, “It was always just a thought, though.”

“Uh huh. Let me guess. You woke up today and decided you didn’t want to go to school, so here you are.”

“Here I am,” Matsukawa agrees. “So, any objections?”

“Nah.” Hanamaki grins. “Oikawa’s going to be so mad when he hears that we watched this and he missed your reactions.”

“Oh, he’s not missing my reactions. I’m going to be making sure he gets _everything_.”

Matsukawa waves his phone at him, and Hanamaki sits up a little in awe. “You. You’re evil.”

Matsukawa shrugs. “What’s life without a little _spice_?”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Hanamaki mock-shudders, earning a gentle tap on the thigh from Matsukawa, and then he slots the CD in.

Hanamaki has watched this a few times by now, and sleepily, he starts to feel a little sorry that Oikawa is, indeed, missing this. He assesses his feelings, wondering if he’s sorry enough to maybe invite Oikawa over to his house for the first time.

 _Nah_. They’re going to be stuck with each other for two more years at least, so there’ll probably be better reasons to ask him over. And knowing the other boy, it’s likely that he’ll find a reason to invite _himself_ over. It’s just how he is.

The television is a blur of sound and colour. Hanamaki is, slowly but surely, feeling himself drift off, so when he hears the doorbell ring again he doesn’t really register it at first. He _is_ conscious enough to note that Matsukawa’s paused the movie and gotten up while he was not looking, so he musters himself to stand, carrying his kakebuton with him in search of his friend.

He turns around to see Matsukawa padding back into the living room, bringing two familiar faces with him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, and then jerks, looking the both of them dead in the eye. One of them waves sheepishly back at him.

For a moment, no one speaks.

“So,” he eventually says, drawing the word out with his tongue, “is this designated bully Oikawa hours, and I was just not informed?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Iwaizumi tells him, relaxing his shoulders just a little. “Yuda was worried about you, and well, I just thought…”

“Guess Yamagata-sensei will have to go without his star attendance pupil after all,” Hanamaki notes.

“I already regret this.”

“I don’t,” Matsukawa interjects, earning a useless look of disappointment from Iwaizumi that he completely shakes off.

Hanamaki wraps his kakebuton tighter around him, already dropping back down onto the couch.

“Well, the door’s still there if you want it,” he calls out. “We’re watching The Mysterians though if you’re staying.”

Yuda snorts. “You guys are _mean_.”

“Hey, I’m just the guy in recovery in this scenario. This is all the rest of you.”

He hears the others filing back into the room more than he sees them, and smiles.

“Fair enough,” Iwaizumi mumbles behind him.

After Yuda and Iwaizumi have settled themselves under the kotatsu beside Matsukawa, and Hanamaki arranges his comforter enough to feel warm and snug on the sofa, they resume the movie.

“After this, Godzilla?” Iwaizumi says, just as they begin.

“You brought it?”

He holds up two CDs with the titular monster on the cover, lips stretching in a dorky wide grin as he tilts his head backwards to meet Hanamaki’s gaze. “I thought it’d make good entertainment.”

Hanamaki shakes his head at him fondly. His fingers twitch, and he resists the urge to pet Iwaizumi’s adorable head. “You would.”

“I haven’t watched those either,” Matsukawa interjects.

“Oh my god, Mattsun.”

“Godzilla after, it is!”

-:✿:-

Hanamaki dreams. Everything is soft, tender at the edges and tinted in rose-pink and blush. There are indistinct mumurs that eventually sharpen into recognisable tones. When Hanamaki blinks, it’s like the world has been painted under a pastel lens, all baby blue and lavender hues.

In this dream, Sawauchi and Shido are here, Oikawa too. They’re all arguing while settling in under the Hanamaki family kotatsu, and Hanamaki turns his head 90 degrees to the left, watching a sheepish Iwaizumi fidget at the edge of the couch and suppressing a happy sigh. He pats a space for Iwaizumi to sit beside as the other boy bows his head apologetically.

“Sorry, Makki. I thought we’d all be able to fit under the kotatsu.”

Hanamaki flashes a tired smile at him. He knows from past experience at training camps that Iwaizumi’s a living heat furnace, and he wouldn’t mind at all to have some of that heat for himself.

He shifts slightly closer, arranging the kakebuton so Iwaizumi has more of it, and at a stern look from him, Iwaizumi shifts closer too.

“I never watched this film before,” Hanamaki admits quietly to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi hums, but is cut off by a harrumph as he opens his mouth to speak. Oikawa waves his hands at Hanamaki. “I _knew_ it! See, this is exactly why I brought the CD over. This film gave _birth_ to the Gozilla movies.”

“Shittykawa, make even one comment about how Godzilla is worse than this movie and I’ll deck you.”

“Even if it’s true, Iwa-chan~?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you don’t know when to admit you’re wrong~”

“Ugh,” Iwaizumi says, glancing back at Hanamaki. In front of them, Oikawa huffs, happy to have the last word. “We always argue about this. I get what he’s saying, okay, I _get_ it. But Godzilla is better. You’ll see.”

Hanamaki glances at him in amusement, pink tinted at the edges, closing in. “I’m sure I will.”

He’s rewarded with one of what Hanamaki secretly terms Iwaizumi’s sunlit smiles, beaming back at Hanamaki with the face of their galaxy’s star. Hanamaki soaks it in, eagerly, a bud coming out of winter tilting its head toward the light. It beats away the haziness, for just a heartbeat.

He ends up not actually watching the whole movie, lulled by the picture of domesticity in front of him, from Sawauchi’s loud and surprisingly enthusiastic commentary to Mattsun’s steady drawl, to Oikawa’s high-pitched squeals of excitement. He leans back to feel the press of Iwaizumi’s arms behind his head, relaxed as he is on the couch.

In this dream, Hanamaki feels content, secure and warm. Loved.

-:✿:-

He wakes to the sound of tissue paper wrinkling, someone blowing into a handkerchief. “Don’t tell me you actually cried, Mattsun,” Hanamaki says.

“Seems like Mattsun might’ve caught a bit of a cold, actually,” Yuda says, disapproving.

“Sorry for waking you up,” Iwaizumi says, quietly. “Didn’t want you to miss it.”

“What, Godzilla?” Hanamaki stretches, just a little, breathing life back into his numbed limbs. “Not for the world.”

He’s rewarded with a pleased grin from Iwaizumi, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Matsukawa briefly pucker his lips. He rolls his eyes back, nabbing one of the pillows he’s been using as a cushion to hug into instead. He’s determined to be awake for this one. In his mind’s eye, he can already see Oikawa pissed.

They make it through both of Iwaizumi’s Godzilla collection before they break for lunch. Matsukawa came prepared with his customised bento, and Iwaizumi brandishes a lunchbox of onigiri that his mom had left on the counter for him. Yuda’s also brought onigiri, except Family Mart-bought.

“What did Oikawa say when you told him you were watching The Mysterians with me?”

Matsukawa shows him the message: a deluge of angry emojis, and finally Oikawa asking for the address to Hanamaki’s house.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Hanamaki asks Matsukawa in alarm.

He’s met with a soft scoff and an “of course not” from Matsukawa, so Hanamaki turns immediately to Yuda next. “ _Yudacchi._ ”

“I didn’t!”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Iwaizumi shrugs, and keeps eating. “I figure he already knows it anyway.”

“Mm, yeah, I think so,” Yuda muses. “ _Pretty_ sure he noted down everyone’s during initiation.”

In other words, from the day they’d first met. Hanamaki does vaguely remember Oikawa asking for his phone number and address, remembers being bemused at someone like Oikawa Tooru asking for his contact details.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says suddenly.

“Huh? Why? Where?”

“Oikawa’s probably gonna come look for us after school, which should end—“ Hanamaki glances at his watch, “—pretty soon.”

“I’ve been cooped up in here for three days now,” he adds when he sees the skepticism on the other boys’ faces. “Since we’re going to meet up anyway, might as well be outside.”

Especially since his sisters are going to be home soon, and he doesn’t want to explain why he has friends over. Matsukawa reads him first, and points Hanamaki in the direction of his bedroom.

“Go ahead and get changed then.”

“A little help would be nice,” Hanamaki mutters, fluttering his eyelashes at him. “Please?”

“I’ll help you clean up, Makki,” Yuda adds, bringing Hanamaki’s bowl and mug to the kitchen. He waves away Hanamaki’s protests. “We’re your guests, at least let us do this for you. Hey, Hajime, you should help him change too.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, says, “Yes, Yudacchi.”

“Yudacchi could rule the world one day,” Hanamaki remarks as he’s ushered into his room. Unlike Matsukawa, whose style Hanamaki would describe as smart casual – today, dressed in a black shirt, a muted gray haramaki and acid wash jeans – Hanamaki’s taste is unfortunately a little more in line with Oikawa’s. He has a preference for plaid and bright colours, something he shares with Oikawa. If Oikawa were here, in fact, Hanamaki can already guess what he’d suggest – the red plaid jeans Hanamaki bought last month.

Maybe he’d say, “I have this exact pair! Makki, when did you get these?”

And Hanamaki would do everything he could to dissuade Oikawa from the notion that because he’d seen Oikawa wear it first, he’d gone ahead and purchased a pair for himself too, despite the fact that that _was_ exactly what Hanamaki did.

This is why he can never invite Oikawa over. Oikawa would expose him too much.

“How about this then?” Matsukawa says, bringing Hanamaki back to the present.

He’s brandishing a patterned gray-and-white haramaki and gray jeans, along with a white jumper advertising coke in the front in black and silver font.

Hanamaki hums, narrowing his eyes. It seems comfortable enough.

Iwaizumi has, on the other hand, somehow dug up more plaid patterns than Hanamaki would’ve thought he should’ve found. Hanamaki gasps.

“These?” Iwaizumi asks with a grin wide enough to split his face in two.

Hanamaki glances up at him, wide-eyed. It takes him a second to find his voice. “Maybe?”

Matsukawa looks between the pile of clothes Iwaizumi is holding to Hanamaki and back. There’s laughter in his voice, Hanamaki can _hear_ it when he notes, dryly, “Nice selection.”

“Plaid is cool, okay?”

“Ugh, don’t let Shittykawa hear you say that,” Iwaizumi remarks. “He’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

Hanamaki tries his best to salvage the remains of his dignity.

“I _know_.”

-:✿:-

Eventually, they decide on a nordic black and gray haramaki with a gray sweater and white pants, as well as a brown mod coat for Hanamaki.

They’d agreed to meet Oikawa and the others at the old Aoba Castle site—it’s as good a place as any, Hanamaki insists. He brushes aside the possible complaints he’s constructed in his mind that it’s a little troublesome to get to by train, that there’s virtually nothing there anyway, that it’s only good as a tourist spot. Iwaizumi, Yuda and Matsukawa indulge him.

The idea that the Sendai Castle was at the top of The Bucket List bears no importance, whatsoever, to his decision of course.

The day is rather overcast, the sun almost entirely covered behind clouds. It paints a starkly blue palette over the rest of his surroundings, not unlike the way the world looks after you’ve fallen asleep on a train or bus in the middle of the day, and upon awaking, it takes your eyes a moment to adjust. The air feels crisp, and Hanamaki inhales it as liberally as he can through his mask while looking around for a familiar tuft of brown hair and white uniform jacket that easily stands out above the crowd. Not that there’s much of a crowd here at Aoba Castle.

It’s as unimpressive as he remembers. Upon reaching the ruins of Aoba Castle, what had greeted them was mostly open space, the statue of Date Masamune on his warhorse looming over them. Surrounded by a forest of towering pines on one side and a sheer manmade cliff on the other, Hanamaki had quickly made his way to the arbour to wait until Oikawa and the others arrived.

When Oikawa finally emerges into view, flanked on either side by two boys wearing identical jackets, Hanamaki waves them over.

“Iwa-chan~!” Oikawa greets Iwaizumi first with a punch to the arm. Judging by Iwaizumi’s slight wince, he didn’t hold anything back with that. “Yudacchi, Mattsun, Makki.” He nods to each of them in turn.

“Can’t believe you guys actually skipped!” Sawauchi says, shaking his head. “Especially not _you_ , Iwaizumi.”

“Ah, let him be,” Shido grins. “I’m sure he’s got a good excuse. Soooo Makki,” he adds, head crooking in his direction, “finally back to yourself?”

“ _Yes_ , Makki,” Oikawa says, slinging an arm around him, smile sugar-sweet, “how are you feeling?”

In response, Hanamaki takes out the volleyball he’d been carrying. Oikawa’s smile widens, revealing teeth. Hanamaki already feels better than he has all day. “So-so. Wanna play catch?”

Matsukawa snorts. “Right here?”

“Why not?”

“You lot are so obsessed with volleyball,” Sawauchi mutters, but he sets down his bag by the edge of the bench Hanamaki and the others had been sitting on just the same.

They easily fall into their practice patterns, with Oikawa, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki forming a trio while Matsukawa, Sawauchi, Shido and Yuda each form pairs.

“It’s really a shame you two couldn’t make it to school today,” Oikawa remarks after a few rounds of silent passing (a miracle really) as he tosses the ball over to Hanamaki, who tosses it over to Iwaizumi. “Yamagata-sensei gave a truly moving speech.”

“Oh?” Hanamaki and Iwaizumi exchange amused looks. “What did precious Hayato win this time? An ICAS medal?”

“Became starting libero,” Oikawa says.

Hanamaki almost misses the ball Oikawa suddenly sends roaring his way. He holds the ball, cradles it to his chest. “W-what?”

“You heard me.” Oikawa’s gaze trails somewhere over Hanamaki’s shoulder, like he’s envisioning someone he wants to strangle. “ _Precious Hayato_ became the starting libero as a first-year. For Shiratorizawa.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Iwaizumi curses beside him, but Oikawa’s words echo in Hanamaki’s mind, once, twice, like a resonating chamber. Of course. Of _course_. Their principal’s esteemed nephew isn’t just one of the brightest minds in Miyagi, in Japan, he’s also playing for their greatest rival. Their greatest obstacle to Nationals.

Nothing has ever come easy to them. Everything is a struggle: to lose, to fight, to win.

But also: _fuck_ Shiratorizawa.

“So what?” Hanamaki says aloud. “Are you going to try to rip his arms off?”

“He won’t lay a hand on my spikes,” Iwaizumi says, gritting his teeth.

“Don’t you think we have to show Hayato-san just how a winning team really plays, Makki?” Oikawa says.

Oikawa always did have a gift for dramatic timing, Hanamaki thinks. Slowly, the sun starts to peek behind the clouds, shining down with glistening rays and lighting the planes of Oikawa’s face as he stares at Hanamaki in challenge, a hand on his hips.

Hanamaki receives his ball with ease, scratching his chin. Dammit, he hates to admit it, but sometimes Oikawa can be really friggin’ _cool_.

“Not with that weak pass, we’re not,” he finally says, but it comes just a touch too late and so loses most of its bite. Oikawa just smiles his wolf-smile at him, at Iwaizumi, the one with the teeth.

“We’re going to crush them next tournament,” Iwaizumi says, giving a sharp grin in return. “Now are we all warmed up? I feel like playing a game of 3-on-3.”

-:✿:-

As great as Hanamaki is feeling, he knows better than to push it, playing referee instead for the various 3-on-3 configurations trying their best to play a game without a net between them. Throughout the afternoon, they only see a handful of people at best, so for the most part, the games proceed uninterrupted, but eventually Hanamaki calls the drills to a stop when he sees the way the clouds are turning, and the boys put their jackets back on without complaint, shivering a little in the chill.

“We should visit the shrine before we go,” Oikawa says, so the seven of them pick their way down the carpark and woodland path to Gokoku Shrine, where they draw omikuji—surprisingly, Yuda’s the only one to draw a mildly unlucky strip, with han-kyo: half-bad—and pay their respects to the dead soldiers honoured at the shrine. Hanamaki claps his hands twice and offers up a prayer to the lost souls, before bowing deeply, feeling his breath strangely caught in his throat.

“Why did you want to come here to begin with?” Hanamaki asks Oikawa, falling into step beside him and Iwaizumi as they turn to go.

“He’s just being a little sentimental,” Iwaizumi says fondly, cutting Oikawa off just as he opens his mouth.

“Iwa-chan, don’t be rude,” Oikawa protests with a pout. “We visited this place fairly often as children,” he turns around and tells Hanamaki. “Iwa-chan used to have relatives who would visit, and they always insisted on coming here. Iwa-chan would invite me over, and we’d play for ages on the concrete, just chasing each other around and around.”

Hanamaki tries to picture it for a moment, a younger Oikawa and Iwaizumi, just running after each other in all that space. It brings a smile to his face.

“Your relatives who are now in America?” Matsukawa asks curiously.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi nods, adding, “And it wasn’t always, _idiot_ , it was only twice or thrice.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him. “You always wanted me to come with you, though.”

“Can’t think of why.”

“Iwa-chan is just shy around his older cousins,” Oikawa sing-songs, earning a sharp jab from Iwaizumi in the process. “Ouch, that hurts! You know, maybe if you were _nicer_ —”

“I’ve never been here before,” Yuda cuts in softly. “It’s pretty quiet, so that’s nice.”

“A pain to get to, though,” Sawauchi grunts.

“Next time, let’s just meet at the cat café,” Hanamaki says.

“Sounds good. You know, I can’t believe I thought I was happy not to play volleyball today.”

Hanamaki glances sidelong at Matsukawa, who’s still looking at his hands as though he can’t quite believe the redness forming, the welts. He’d jumped higher than Sawauchi earlier, had reached further for the ball. Oikawa had pushed him to do it and he hadn’t complained, not once.

“Pain builds character,” Oikawa says solemnly, looking behind at them. Without Hanamaki quite realising, he and Iwaizumi had already pulled on ahead.

“Maybe.”

Friendship does, too. But he’s sure Oikawa already knows that.

-:✿:-

In the end, Hanamaki’s nee-chan drives him, Oikawa and Iwaizumi back from Aoba Castle. Since Oikawa and Iwaizumi were living next door to each other, and Hanamaki’s house was a stop or two away by bus, it had seemed the logical choice. With fading rays of sun setting like bloodstains across the seats, it casts a warm pallour around the hushed space, and Hanamaki looks briefly in the mirror to make sure his friends are behaving rather than horsing around in the seats. Again.

Ru-nee casts a bemused look at him as she drives. Hanamaki meets her gaze evenly, thinking. As this isn’t the first time she’s driven him home, or Oikawa and Iwaizumi for that matter, she’s already acquainted with the pair’s brand of bickering.

“What?” he asks, not quite able to bear her scrutiny anymore.

“Just wondering how you found the energy to get out when you’d been bemoaning your oh-so-sorry state this morning,” Ru-nee slants a crooked grin at him, and he just rolls his eyes in response.

“I wasn’t like that, and you know it. Can’t a guy step out to get some fresh air without anyone worrying?”

“Not if it’s two stations and a hell of a lot of kilometres away.”

“Okay, _mom_. I made sure to rest plenty before I left.”

“Oh, I’m not the one you’ll have to convince. _Someone_ was a little upset you weren’t at home today to see her awards.”

He sighs, deeper this time, laying his head against the window as he listens to Oikawa and Iwaizumi quibble over milk bread. He’ll have to make it up to Shinobu later. For now, though…

He huffs. “Mattsun knows how to bake,” he says wryly, cutting off the conversation immediately. “Maybe you could ask him to make some, and judge for yourself if the process is easy or not.”

“Makki!” Oikawa pops his head in between the seats, eyes shining with excitement. “You might be onto something there! Hmm, what _if_? Should we?”

Hanamaki turns his head just in time to avoid slamming his jaw against Oikawa’s forehead.

“Shittykawa, for the love of god,” Iwaizumi pulling Oikawa back against the seats, to Hanamaki’s relief, but it doesn’t last for long.

“You agree, right?” Oikawa preens in his face. “We should!”

“You’ll have to actually _ask_ him first, dumbass,” Iwaizumi snorts, pulling Oikawa back once more. “And stay in your seat, for fuck’s sake.”

Oikawa ignores him completely. “I don’t have to ask him when I can simply win the answer out of him.”

A truly devious smile blooms on Oikawa’s face as he considers Hanamaki’s skeptical look. “Two pocky game wins says we get to bake at Mattsun’s house.”

“What? No, you can’t just do that!” Hanamaki can’t believe Oikawa sometimes.

“I just did,” Oikawa counters smugly.

“You know you and Iwaizumi tag-teaming is just unfair.”

“Does that mean you forfeit then?”

Hanamaki pushes Oikawa’s head back until he’s sitting upright against the cushions, receiving a mildly admonishing “behave children” from Ru-nee as he does. Seriously, Oikawa is doing more things to tarnish his good record than he knows what to do with.

“ _What_ good record are you even talking about, exactly?”

“Shut up.”

Oikawa does, his face practically gloating. He stays in his seat, thankfully. Beside him, Iwaizumi just shrugs, but doesn’t say anything, as if he already knows. He probably does know Oikawa better than Hanamaki does, considering he’s Oikawa’s best friend, but Hanamaki isn’t about to let Oikawa have his way this time.

“ _If_ Mattsun agrees to your bet in the first place—”

“He will,” Oikawa interjects, and Hanamaki takes a second to inwardly groan. Matsukawa _would_ ; he just doesn’t care enough to say no, even if the last thing it cost him was a haircut.

“— _even_ if he agrees, you said it yourself, Oikawa. Pain builds character. You have to do the pocky game with me instead.”

“Wait, what?”

“If Mattsun and Iwaizumi win, we’re baking at _your_ place.”

“I’m not agreeing to this!”

“I am,” Iwaizumi shrugs.

“Me too,” Hanamaki says, inordinately pleased. “You know Mattsun will,” he adds, enjoying the way Oikawa’s whole face is blooming red. It reminds him a little of the whistling kettle at home, and he takes a further moment to enjoy the sight.

“Ugh, fine,” Oikawa turns his nose up at him with a sniff, “ _if_ you and I win. And you promise you won’t do anything, whatsoever, to sabotage me?”

Iwaizumi chuckles. “Oh, you have nothing to worry about, Shittykawa. Because Mattsun and I are beating your asses, either way.”

For a moment, Hanamaki feels a sudden, painful jolt of regret. For the sake of his insides not combusting though from the possibility of him doing the pocky game instead with Iwaizumi, he must sacrifice the precious opportunity.

Matsukawa had better thank him for this. Preferrably with a whole bag of profiteroles.

Oikawa snarls, voice sickly-sweet again, “You’ll be taking those words back, I promise, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi simply snorts again.

“Well?” he asks, gaze pinning Hanamaki in place.

Hanamaki shakes his head, coughs discreetly through his mask. “Alright.”

“If you let me down…”

Hanamaki and Oikawa glare each other down through the mirror.

“This is going to be fun,” Iwaizumi remarks.

-:✿:-

So, really, the day ends like this:

“You know, they wouldn’t skip a day for me,” Oikawa murmurs in a low voice, putting his head up against the window as he and Iwaizumi alight. “They did for you, though.”

“I didn’t ask them to,” Hanamaki counters, eyebrow raising despite himself.

Oikawa shakes his head and steps back, waving a hand airily about him as if to dispel the sudden jolt of tension. “I know. Well, hope you’re fully recovered when I see you again. The team needs you.”

 _I need you_ , he doesn’t say. Hanamaki rolls his eyes and looks beyond him to Iwaizumi, raising his hand in a wave. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

“Get well soon, Makki,” Iwaizumi flashes a soft smile at him, and Hanamaki, despite himself, melts a little.

“Yeah, yeah. Later!”

He watches Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk off with the sun setting behind them, shoulder to shoulder, shadows long as Hanamaki in their wake. Sighs.

He’s ended his last day of his first year in senior high with these dorks. His team.

It’s a nice feeling.

Thirty minutes later, he receives two texts.

**from mattsun: what’s this I hear about a pocky game with iwaizumi?**

**from oikawa: you planned to fall sick, didn’t you?! i see right through ur plan, makki. u bitch.  
**

He groans.

Perhaps it’s not such a nice feeling after all.

And so it begins.

**Author's Note:**

> short glossary of terms:  
> - _hanami viewing_ : flower viewing  
> - _ochazuke_ : a type of japanese sick food, lit. green tea submerged (in rice), sometimes topped with seafood as well as other savoury ingredients  
> - _kakebuton_ : comforter  
> - _haramaki_ : lit. bellyband; an item of japanese clothing that covers the stomach. pretty popular in japan men's fashion around 2010. (nordic was a popular pattern around that time too.)  
> - _gokoku shrine_ : shrines designated as places of worship for those who died in war  
> - _omikuji_ : strips of paper on which are written random fortunes, usually found in shinto shrines and buddhist temples  
> - _pocky game_ : eating game in which pairs compete to see who can finish a stick/set of pocky between them first. it's like the spaghetti scene in lady and the tramp, except it's pocky.
> 
> \--------------------------
> 
> thank you so much for reading! <3


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